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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


DR.  AND  MRS.  ELMER  BELT 


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M.     ^ 


ii.fl!]!h.tiEli 


OR, 


THE  ANGEL  OF  CHAEm^ 


The  evening  hour  had  stolen  o'er  tlie  earth, 
Nature's  sweet  time  of  holy,  calm  repose. 
Night's  mystic  wand,  with  soft,  mysterious 

charm, 
Had  touched  the  land,  shrouding  in  sombre 

hue 
A  city  fair,  whose   thousand   homes  had 

glowed 


6V- 


4tcr^nrit  giiglttitt^al^. 


With  all  the  gorgeous  tints  of  sunset  light, 
Such  light  as  only  bathes  the  hallowed  soil 
Of  Italy. 


The  quivering  moonlight  crept 
O'er  dome  and  cloistered  cell,  illumining 
The  gray  cathedral  walls ;  sending  to  rest. 
In  sheltered  nooks,  the  shadows  dim  and 

strange 
Which  haunt  the  classic  piles  that  tower 

high 
Above  the  sleeping  city's  silent  gloom, 
And  flecking  with  a  liquid,  silver  sheen, 


-A© 


(5V- 


The  crested  waves   that   dimpled  Arno's 
tide. 


Shades   of    the   illustrious    dead    seemed 

hovering  round 
Their  cherished  earthly  home,  in  converse 

sweet, — 
'Mid  spots  that  earth  deems  consecrated 

ground, — 
With  spirits  that  still  shed  abroad  their 

love 
And  poesy.     That  night,  round  Florence's 

walls. 


^' 


A  halo  of  encliantment  lingered  long. 
Within   its   precincts  fair,  still  fresh  and 

bright 
With  glory  of  departed  centuries, 
A  little  light  first  quickened  into  life, — 
A  light  destined  to  shed  a  radiance  pure 
O'er  one  dark  page  in  earth's  sad  history. 
And  came  there  not  upon  the  still  night- 
breeze, 
A  floating  strain  of  harmony  divine, 
A  fragment  of  an  anthem  angels  sing 
Hailing  the  advent  of  a  spirit  here, 
Whose  mission  is  of  holy  love  and  peace  ? 


-c^ 


Sure  Llessed  was  that  uii:i:lit  witli  Heaven's 

own  smile, 
That  claimed  the  birth  of  Florence  Night- 
ingale, 
And  one  more  leaf  of  fresh,  undying  hue. 
Her  name  has  added  to  the  laurel  wreath 
That  crowns  thy  brow,  O  Italy  ! 


The  scene 
Is  changed.     No  more  the  light  of  South- 
ern skies 
Enriched  by  added  lustre  from  the  Past, 
Smiles  down  upon  the  new-awakened  life, 


But  England  rocks  tlie  fair  cliild  on  lier 

breast, 
And  cradles  it  within  lier  own  sweet  liome. 
Far  from  tlie  noisy  city's  din  and  strife, 
Nurtured  witli  love  in  Nature's  verdant  lap, 
Whose   great   heart's   measured    beatings 

she  could  hear, 
And  note  the  rapid  pulse  of  throbbing  life, 
Her  childhood  passed, — fresh,  innocent  and 

gay. 

Yet,  with  a  mind  and  soul  of  riper  years, 
Unsoiled,  unstained  by  contact  with  the 
world. 


.^; 


(I5V — — "^W 


Her  heart  with  all  its  fresh,  warm  sympa- 
thy, 
Soon  oped  at  sight  of  human  grief  and 

woe. 
The  fragrant  breath  of  Spring,  the  joyous 

song 
Of  warblers  wild,  the  golden  harvest-fruit, 
And   rippling  music  of  the   stream, — all 

spoke 
To    her  of  the  great  Father's  boundless 

love. 
And  prompted  an  impulsive  w^ish,  a  strong 
And  earnest  hope,  to  add  her  little  mite 
To  the  swift  tide  of  pitying,  active  love, 


And  slied  in  darkened  homes  tlie  radiant 

liglit 
Of  "  Leaven-born  Charity." 


Oft,  hand  in  hand 
AYith  childhood's  cherished  love,— a  sister 

dear, 
She   trod  with  printless   feet   the   grass- 
grown  path 
That  led  to  the  drear,  sorrowful  abode 
Of  Poverty.     A  basket,  choicely  stored 
With  food,  a  home  of  luxury  supplied  ; 


Some  little  comfort  for  the  invalid ; 
A  passage  from  the  Holy  Book  of  Life, 
Kead  by  a  voice  so  full  of  melody, — 
Seemed  to  those  weary,  grief- worn,   toil- 
tried  hearts. 
Like   rain  upon  the  parched  and  thirsty 

land ; 
As  dew  within  the  drooping  lily-cup, 
Drew  yet  a  breath  of  sweetness  and  per- 
fume 
From  faded,  withered  lives. 


Time  urges  on 


His  eager,  pauseless  course.     The  young, 

frail  gii^l 
Has  ripened  into  thoughtful  womanhood. 
Not   what,   perchance,   the   world   deems 

beautiful. 
But  fair  and  bright  with  loveliness  of  soul. 
That  beams  from  brow  and  eye,  speaks  in 

the  tones 
Of  a  soft  voice,  and  circles  word  and  deed 
With  grace  and  sweet  humility.     Feeling 
That  life  is  given  for  action  not  for  rest, 
For  the  fulfilment  of  some  noble  aim, 
She   pauses   not   along   its   flower-strewn 

path 


To  sip  its  honied  sweets,  but,  pressing  on, 
Points  others  on  the  heavenward  course ; 

urges 
With  gentle,  yet  resistless  power,  to  try 
The  safe,  though  steep  ascent  of  that  great 

Hill 
Whose   summit  is  illumed  by  Learning's 

light; 
And  lifts  with  tender  hand  the  weary  ones 
Who   sink    beneath   life's   weighty   load. 

Thus  days 
And  weeks  glide  by,  each  bearing  on  its  wing 
The  record  of  some  good  and  holy  deed, 
To  cheer  and  elevate  mankind. 


But  liark  ! 

What  threatening  tones  sound  on  the  quiet 
air? 

The  trumpet-blast  of  "War,  re-echoing 
shrill, 

Calls  England's  braves  to  meet  the  coming 
storm. 

Overhanging  clouds  of  thick,  portentous 
gloom, 

With  thunder  muttering  from  their  murky- 
depths. 

Obscure  the  calm  and  sunny  light  of  Peace. 

From  cheerful,  happy  homes,  throughout 
the  land. 


4lornui;  |1ij[)htin()ali;.  15 


Goes  up  a  wail  of  sorrow  and  of  woe. 
Britannia's  noblest  sons,  the  joy  and  pride 
Of  household  bands,  with  dauntless  front 

go  forth. 
To  battle  for  disputed  rights,  and  win 
The  empty  bubble  of  chivalric  fame. 
Over  Crimean  fields.  War's  demons  dark 
With  blackened  brow  prevail.     Defiance 

fierce 
From    out    the    hostile    tented-camps    is 

hurled, 
And  Europe's  challenged  hosts  at  last  are 

closed 
In  fearful  strife. 


'^f 


From  Balaklava's  plain, 
Deep-dyed  and  crimsoned  o'er  witli   pre- 
cious blood, 
Come  tidings  sore  to  anxious,  beating  hearts 
On  English  soil.     The  air  resounds  with 

moans 
And  plaintive  cries.     A  thousand  joyous 

homes 
Are  lone  and  desolate.     A  mother  here, 
Heart-broken,  longs  but  once  again  to  press 
Her  darling  to  her  breast ;  a  loving  wife 
To  gaze  upon  the  dying  one,  to  her 
Dearer  than  all,  than  life  itself. 


Meanwliile, 
Disease  and  death  and  wretcliedness  are  rife 
Tlirougliout  the  seat  of  war.     No  gentle 

liand 
Is   tliere   to  cool  the  fevered,  throbbing 

brow 
That  finds  no  rest  from  agonizing  pain, 
No  voice  to  whisper  words  of  holy  peace 
To  the  departing  soul. 

But  one  brave  heart, 
One  noble,  sympathizing  breast,  is  warm 
"With  an -el-love.   To  Florence  Nightingale 


The  supplicating  cry  of  pain  and  woe 
Hatli  not  been  raised  in  vain.     The  liour 

is  come, 
The  moment  for  heroic  enterprise, 
And  sacrifice  of  self,  perchance  of  life. 
She  feels  her  country's  need.     She  hears 

the  voice 
Within,  that   bids   her   soul  be  true,  be 

strong. 
She  heeds  not  pleasure's  call  or  the  appeal 
Of  enervating  ease  and  luxury, 
Or  warning  tones,  that  tell  of  danger,  vv^ant 
And  care,  but,  buckling  on  her  heavenly 

shield. 


^£-—  ?g 


^noitnrc  lli^hiinplif,  10 


Goes  forth  in  trustful,  humble  confidence, 
Her  woman's  weakness  rendered  strong  by 

power 
Of  earnest  faith  and  love. 

With  holiness 

And  purity  enthroned  upon  her  brow, 

And  goodness  slirined  Avithin  her  noble 

heart, 

She  speeds  upon  the  wings  of  Charity, 
A  messenger  of  light,  and  joy,  and  peace 

To  suifering  humanity.     And  soon 

The   precious  freight  on  ocean's  heaving 

]jreast 


'Ms 


yi 


Is  borne, — whose  ceaseless,  surging  ebb 

and  flow 
Seem  beating  time  for  all  eternity, — 
And  liglit  at  length  illuminates  the  gloom 
That  spread  its  heavy  pall  of  misery 
Around  the  suffering  host  at  Scutari. 
A  thrill  of  joy  is  felt  throughout  the  camp, 
And  grateful  hearts  send  up  their  prayer- 
ful praise, 
And  blessings  spring  along  the  path  of  her 
Who,  like  an  angel  strayed  from  heaven 

above 
With  magic  power  sheds    gladness  over 
aU. 


^=^  ^ 


^torarij  Uiiglifinigali;.  '-^i 


Where  wretclieclness  and  strife  triumphant 

reigned, 
A  hallowed  peace  is  soft  diffused.     With 

hand 
And  heart  unwearied,   she   supplies   the 

wants  n 

Of  needy,  wounded  ones, — dark  hours  to 

cheer, 
And  soothe  with   thouo^hts  of  home  the 

invalid, 
Her  never-tiring  care, 

A  sufferer  here 
Upon  his  lonely  pallet  lies.     His  brow 


3?'? ■ '■ -^^ 


Witli  lieat  and  pain  tlirobs  fast,  and  rest- 
1  essly 

His  weary  limbs  toss  on  tlie  sleepless  coucli. 

A  dream  of  liome  steals  o'er  Ms  fevered 
brain, 

And  eagerly  the  sick  one's  arms  are 
stretched 

To  clasp  the  dear  one  to  his  yearning 
breast. 

The  fair,  young  wife  is  there,  whose  pres- 
ence bright 

Had  filled  his  heart  with  sacred  joy.    Alas ! 

The  vision  fades,  and  tears,  dew-drops  of 
woe. 


& 


?^ 


Fill  the   dim   eyes.     But,   liusli!    Is  it  a 

dream  ? 
A  gentle  step  falls  light  upon  his  ear, 
Cool  hands  are  pressed  upon  the  burning 

head, 
And  grateful  moisture  greets  his  parching 

lips, 
A  kind,  sweet  face  bends  over  him  in  love, 
And  calms  his  achin<2:  heart  with  words  of 

peace. 

Another  there  is  draining  the  last  drop 
In  life's  deep  cup  of  mingled  joy  and  grief 
Slowly  the  sunset  light  fades  in  the  west. 


'^ 


24  ^lonjurif  Ui||Min||itk 

Slowly  life's  liglit  is  quenclied  in  tlie  dark 

eye, 
And  shades  of  death  enshroud  the  weary 

sight. 
The  future  is  a  dark,  veiled  mystery. 
"  Oh  !    for  one  gleam  of  faith  and  hope !  " 

he  ciies. 
As  with  a  soft,  celestial  beauty  clad. 
The  same  fair  face  bends  o'er  the  penitent. 
His  eager  ear  catches  the  whispered  words 
That  tell  of  Him  who  died  to  save.     A 

smile 
Of  heavenly  peace  plays  round  the  parted 

lips,— 


The   spirit    goes   to   seek    its    home    on 


high. 


She  passes  on,  and  oft  a  silent  prayer 
Calls  down  God's  love  upon  her  noble  head, 
And  simple  hearts  in  reverent  gratitude 
Caress  her  wavinor  shadow  as  it  falls 

o 

Upon  their  lowly  beds. 

Oh  !  who  can  tell 
The  beauty,  aye,  e'en  the  sublimity, 
Of  such  a  spirit  of  devotedness, 
And  sacrifice  of  self,  or  estimate 


The  power  of  sucli  a  life  of  earnest  love  ? 
Tliere  is  true  poetry  in  noble  souls, 
There  is  a  music  in  a  holy  deed, 
That,  wafted  up  and  on  through  endless 

space, 
Mingles  at  last  with  seraph  minstrelsy. 

And  now  the  war  ended,  the  battle  done. 
Peace  waves  again  her  white  wings  o'er  the 

land. 
England  may  not  have  won  from  history 
A  crown  of  fame ;  from  records  truer  far 
And  nobler, — human  hearts,  she  hath  re- 
ceived 


K 


A  glory  that  sliall  never  die,  so  long 
As  eyes  sliall  l)rigliten  at  the  sight  of  acts 
Of  true  1)enevolence,  or  life-hloo;l  thrill 
As  evidence  of  that  srood  faith  in  man, 
That  near  approach  to  the  divinity, — 
The   workings  of  tliat  strange,  mysterious 

love. 
That  is  all-powerful ;  that  never  fails ; 
That  bears,  believes,  hoj^es  and  endures. 


The  name 
Ol*  FloT-ence  Nightingale  shall  prove  a  spell 
Of  magic  influence, — a  quickening  charm 


m 


7(1 


To  move  men's  souls  to  liigli  and  lofty 
aims ; 

Shall  touch  the  sacred  spring  of  good  with- 
in; 

Shall  animate  to  gen'rous  sacrifice, 

And  sound  to  hearts  and  homes  with  the 
sweet  tone 

Of  some  familiar  household  word. 


Woman ! 
The  bright  example  of  her  noble  life, 
Appeals   to   thee   with   earnest,   thrilling 
power. 


Thou  hast  tlie  faith,  tliou  hast  the  holy 

love. 
Oh !  dream  not  an  existence  here  away 
In  dim,  illusive  hope  of  unearned  joy, 
Mere  yearnings  after  ideal  excellence. 
Deem  not  thou  art  too  feeble  now,  since 

one, 
In  form  as  frail  as  thine,  has  proved  her 

strength. 
Think  not  a  battle-field  alone  the  scene 
That  waits  thy   sympathy,  thy  guardian 

care ; 
For  life  is  one  extended  battle-strife, 
And  heroes  truer  far  than  ever  won 


fi^^' 


A  yictoiy  o'er  foes  on  tented  field, 

Are  struggling  on  in  silent  conflict  now, 

Witli  all  the  ills  of  j3ain  and  poverty. 

Be  faithful,  true  to  thy  high  destiny. 

Go  forth  like  her  whose  ma2:ic  liorht  has 
shed 

A  flood  of  radiance  o'er  the  earth,  and 
heal 

The  wounded  heart,  make  bright  the  dar- 
kened home, 

And  wake  soft  strains  of  touching  melody 

In  souls  else  tuneless,  broken  notes  of  want 

And  misery. 


And  Florence  Nioflitinsrale ! 
Thou  harbinger  of  good  to  suffering  man, 
Thou  gentle  type  of  that  deep  faith  and 

love, 
That  is  man's  sacred,  heavenly  heritage, — 
His  glorious  sjDirit  of  humanity, — 
Earth's  brightest  honors  cluster  round  thy 

name, 
Happy  in  sense  of  duty  nobly  done, 
Kich  in  a  nation's  love  and  reverence, 
May  Heaven's  choice  blessings  rest  upon 

thy  head. 


f, 


Hencefortli  and  forever  thy  fair  name  shall 

be 
Earth's  Angel  of  Holiness,  bright  Charity. 
Of  all  England's  warblers,  the  sweetest  and 

best. 
Thy  carol  of  love  shall  forever  be  blest. 
And  songs  of  thy  life  from  the  music  of 

Time, 
Awaken  responsive  an  echo  sublime. 


